The Quaker Loves An Ample Brim, A

Oh Would I Were Dead Now, Or Up In My Bed Now, To Cover My Head Now, And Have A Good Cry!

So Mayst Thou Live, Dear! Many Years, In All The Bliss That Life Endears

No Blessed Leisure For Love Or Hope, But Only Time For Grief.

A Certain Portion Of The Human Race Has Certainly A Taste For Being Diddled.

There Is A Silence Where Hath Been No Sound, There Is A Silence Where No Sound May Be,- In The Cold Grave, Under The Deep, Deep Sea, Or In The Wide Desert Where No Life Is Found.